


The Moment of the Beginning

by AstralFire, IamandI



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralFire/pseuds/AstralFire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamandI/pseuds/IamandI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way back from San Diego, Malik and Kadar stumble upon a strange, abandoned contraption outside the Sonoran Desert. They also find something else: a mute, naked young man whose only answer to questions of origin is to point at the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Was, and I Am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamandI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamandI/gifts).



> All my deadeye expressions go to Carie.

"Malik, look!" Kadar yells over the sound of wind rushing through open car windows. The young boy is practically coming out of the seat belt trying to point at something in the distance. "Malik! Stop! Stop the car! Look!"

The '73 Ford Gran Torino (matte black for now, and all they could afford before) swerves unsteadily to the side of the road and stops hard enough to throw both Malik and Kadar forward.

"Christ, Kadar," barks Malik. "What are you even going on about?"

But the door is already open, and Kadar has fled on foot out over the flat land of the desert, running as if his life depends on it. Surprised, Malik leans against the steering wheel, looking, squinting then to the distance where the hazy image of something bright sits. Kadar is still running, and Malik suddenly panics, tossing off the seat belt and leaving the Gran Torino behind like a bolt of lightning jumping from one conductor to the next. He chases his brother until his lungs burn and there's a pinch in his side; whatever it is, white and looming, had been further away than they thought. 

"Kadar!" he calls, breathless. "Stop!"

By the time he reaches Kadar, his body is forcing him to bend over and hold his knees, and he struggles for air. He looks up while he tries to catch his breath, and Kadar is sitting, chest heaving, in front of something they have never seen before in their entire lives. The metal of the cocoon is as white as untouched snow, and unmarred by linking sheets or buttons or screws, and it has driven itself down into the hot and dry dirt like an arrow, but nothing has bent or broken.

It's a perfect, queer capsule that they can't place. It's foreign and exotic. It's new.

"It's a spaceship," Kadar says.

"No, it's not," Malik replies.

"It's a UFO," Kadar says.

The two of them are awed enough to stare for a long time, silent and wondered, but then movement from the back startles them like cats. Kadar flings himself up and zips away, and Malik grabs him as he nears, and then Malik puts himself in front instead, an arm out like a shield.

Something moves in the shadow at the back, a long and lean darkness that finally steps around to the side and out into the sun. It's a young man, their age maybe, and he is shockingly nude and unaware. He lifts his hand to bar the light from his squinted eyes, and he looks at them for a long time without saying anything at all.

"It's an alien," Kadar quickly says.

"It is _not_ an alien," clarifies Malik.


	2. Three of Them Walk Together

It's an alien.

The entire ride back to Phoenix is nothing but silence broken up by Kadar's endless chatter.

The trunk of the Gran Torino was packed full of clothes and dorm things, luckily enough for the naked boy. Malik had been in the process of gathering the last vestiges of his sophomore year and returning home to Phoenix, and so the back of the Torino became a second-hand consignment shop. The boy who said nothing at all allowed Kadar to dress him, and the shorts drooped along with the underwear because Malik is just that little bit broader in the waist, and the shirt enveloped him in fabric because Malik's torso doesn't swoop and isn't lean like the boy's own. No shoes fit, so they let him ride along to Phoenix in ankle socks and nothing else.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" Kadar asks over the wind for the hundredth time from the backseat. "Where. Are. You. From?"

The boy lifts his eyes to the roof of the car, and then, very slowly, like the other times before, points upward with one finger.

"What does _that_ mean?" Kadar asks, mostly to Malik. "Upstate? South Dakota? Canada? The North Pole?" And then he grins at the boy from around the car's seat. "You're from outer space, aren't you? It's okay. We'll teach you our language, and then you can tell us what star you're from."

"Kadar, for God's sake," Malik says, "he's not an alien."

"Yes, he is!" Kadar says enthusiastically. "How do you explain that weird thing in the desert then? It's his spaceship! And how do you explain the fact he was naked?"

"Listen," begins Malik, frowning, "he is probably a pilot, and when he was crashing his clothes got vaporized."

"Your theory has more holes in it than mine," Kadar announces, and then he's on the other side of the car suddenly, peeping around the car's seat by Malik's shoulder. "How do you explain his eyes then?" he whispers.

Malik looks over at the boy beside him. Out of all of the things, that is what perplexed him the most: the boy's eyes. They were jackal's eyes, huge and amber backed by blackness, the pupil small and round except in the dark when it engulfed all color completely. He couldn't read them like normal eyes because they told him nothing. They were unnatural. "I'm not studying biology," he tells Kadar, as if that excuses him for lacking convincing explanation.

Finally, Kadar sits back, and the three of them ride on a little ways without talking, listening to the wind howl through the open windows and feeling it throw their hair in all directions. 

Kadar, as always, is the first to speak. "What do we call him?"

"I don't know," Malik admits. 

"Let's name him after a star."

A star, Malik thinks. He is fairly low on the knowledge of star names, to be honest, and so he has no immediate suggestion for his eager brother in the back. "He's not a dog we're bringing home from the pound," Malik reminds Kadar, and there's a huff from the backseat. "Fine. Altaïr."

"Altaïr? What's that?"

"A star," Malik says, eyeballing Kadar in the review mirror. "You said to name him after a star. It's the biggest star in the constellation of Aquila."

"Why are you speaking French?"

"It's not French," Malik clarifies, sighing. "Aquila is shaped like a bird, so it's name basically means eagle. Altaïr is just... the flying eagle really."

After some consideration, Kadar grins into the mirror at his brother. "Okay. Altaïr." Then he's peering around the seat again at the boy who doesn't seem to really be paying them any mind. "Psst." The boy looks at Kadar. "Your name is Altaïr now. Do you understand?" Kadar points to himself. "Kadar." He points to his brother. "Malik." He points to the boy. "Altaïr."

The boy smiles.


	3. And the Eyes of Them Both Were Opened

It is hard to get Altaïr into the house, but even harder to get Altaïr to be still. A fire has been lit under the boy's ass, and Malik and Kadar are unsure of where exactly all of this energy came from. The threshold of the door seemed to have become an electrical current of transferable energy, and Altaïr soaked every bit of it up. He rushes from room to room to room, inspecting and viewing like the whole place is an art gallery, and there's nothing that doesn't go unseen or untouched: the couch, the chairs, the faucet on the sink, the cords on the fridge, the bed skirt in Kadar's room.

After unpacking, and having each and every one of those things touched and viewed, Kadar and Malik find Altaïr devoid of all previously acquired clothes. And yet, Altaïr still rushes about like a madman, looking at all of the things in the house regardless of being naked or not, uttering not a single word. For a time, both Malik and Kadar try desperately to get him back into the clothes, but Altaïr refuses by way of a voiceless temper tantrum, so they leave him be to roam and rut into their possessions nude and free.

Kadar thinks it's hilarious.

Malik is embarrassed and irritated.

Days go by, and Altaïr remains as full of fervor as ever. Sometimes, Kadar wakes in the early hours of the morning, and he thinks he can hear Altaïr in the spare bedroom awake and mulling over a great many different things. Malik rises for the bathroom, only to find Altaïr standing in the hallway staring at one of the pictures hanging on the wall for a long, silent time, never moving, never flinching.

Then things begin to go missing. 

First, it's the spoons, a few coffee mugs, and then a handful of the nicer plates. A lamp vanishes from its usual post on the nightstand in Kadar’s room. Q-tips disappear from the bathroom, and then a roll of toilet paper, a bottle of shampoo, the rug by the front door, the pictures on the coffee table of Malik and Kadar, the case around a pillow, the twisting ties for the bread, a coaster, a pair of headphones.

The suspect is obvious.

At some point, they find Altaïr standing in the bathroom with this clothes in his hands, pouring over the seams, and then he is gone again just like that. Books leave gaps in their shelves and there is disturbed dust where Altaïr's fingers had inspected the molding. He makes off with a broken laptop. Unknowing of the wrath he will incur, he snatches a book of matches right out of Malik's hand and squirrels it away into the spare room.

When moving the couch, Altaïr encounters more trouble than it’s worth, so he leaves it at a slightly tilted angle and instead pursues the crop circles the legs have left in the carpet, fingering them with delicacy, eyes shimmering bright the whole time.

Once, he comes out to drink directly from the tap, and then quickly returns back to the spare room, and Malik decides to follow him. Malik pushes open the door to inspect what he assumes will be a huge mess, only to find it all arranged in a tight circle that orbits a seated Altaïr. The alien is peering up at him even though he was sure he’d tiptoed quietly. Altaïr is staring almost expectantly, like he thinks he may be punished for his collecting, but when Malik says nothing, he immediately resumes his feverish work, skimming through what looks like a hundred books at once, all laid open. It’s everything from research magazines to textbooks to popular fiction. Even one of Malik’s old high school yearbooks seems to have gotten tangled in the fray, and Malik is mortified enough to feel heat in his cheeks, even though on some level he understands that he shouldn't be. That's all it takes. Malik leaves like he had come, feeling more stupefied than when he entered.

This continues for a week and some days, on and never off, and Kadar and Malik whisper together about how they don't think they have even seen Altaïr sleep much less eat or go to the bathroom. They agree that he is definitely not human, and that they currently have no idea how to 'take care' of this Altaïr from the white capsule in the sky. They wonder how they will keep him, or if anyone has found the ship in the desert at all besides them.

They are in the kitchen when Altaïr emerges as he usually does in his sporadic episodes of house wandering, but this time he is wearing clothes. He looks them both in the eye, and appears to be all the more focused. "Your theories of the universe have some holes," he says.

Malik drops an entire jar of spaghetti sauce on the floor.


	4. Lesson 1: If It Goes In, It Will Come Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for those with emetophobia.

Much to Kadar and Malik's horror, Altaïr decides it is now time to eat everything. He starts small and slow at the behest of the brothers: a scrambled egg, some toast, a few crackers, but then he becomes a black hole, spinning and whirling in the kitchen when they aren't there, eating things left and right without any real rhyme or reason. 

Waking in the middle of the night, Malik and Kadar find Altaïr tearing into raw bacon, uncooked grits and oatmeal, and a can of sardines. They try their best to stop him, pleading, bargaining, and then Altaïr becomes very still in the center of the floor, strange eyes going glassy. 

"This feeling," he whispers. "This feeling inside of me. I do not understand it."

"What?" asks Kadar, looking quickly at Malik, worried.

It dawns on the eldest brother out of nowhere, and he makes a hasty leap for Altaïr. "He's going to pu--" Malik starts to yell, but he's interrupted by an eruption of sour spew directly from Altaïr's mouth. It grazes his wrist but swallows his hand, hitting the floor with enough velocity to send it ricocheting in all directions. Kadar screams, a high and girlish sound of pure terror, and he flees to the safety of the edges of the kitchen, leaving Malik standing in shocked regret and quarterly covered in vomit.

Altaïr isn't sure what happened, and so he stares between the two of them with watery eyes wide and searching, dribbling. The more he moves his tongue, the worst his expression gets, and then he looks decidedly dejected and disgusted. "Why does it come up after going down?" he questions no one in particular, perhaps himself. "Do all of you return your food after you have eaten it?"

By the wall, Kadar begins to howl with laughter, but Malik doesn't think it's funny, and Altaïr doesn't know why it's funny, and then Kadar begins to choke.

"Stop laughing and go get a wet wash cloth!" Malik barks. "Or I'm going to run my hand through your hair!"

There's a void of space where Kadar use to be, and the sound of his retching can be heard down the hall. Malik looks back at Altaïr, sighs, and then maneuvers around the alien and the mess (one that doesn't seem to bug him all that much because he is the older brother after all) to get to the kitchen sink to rinse his hand off. "It's called vomiting," Malik says, and when he looks back, Altaïr's eyes are lifted, flickering from left to right like a typewriter like he's registering or remembering or searching.

"I know vomiting," Altaïr says.

"Apparently not," continues Malik, now drying his hands. "Listen, you can't just eat everything there is because you'll puke. I mean"--he realizes Altaïr may not understand slang; this was so hard of a job, teaching--"everything will come back up, especially if you eat it raw. Besides, we don't have much for ourselves, so we have to prepare it and save it for later, for a meal. If you eat it all, we'll have nothing. We'll starve."

Suddenly, Altaïr looks oddly anxious, standing there in his own vomit like a miserable dog who has been abused. Malik beckons the alien boy over just as Kadar returns with two wet wash cloths, offering them up after he jumps around the mess on the floor. "I have seen starving," Altaïr says. "I will not let you starve."

"Don't worry about it," Kadar assures, taking Altaïr's hands and accidentally retching some as he dunks them in the sink.

"I'll do it," Malik insists, but Kadar shoots him a look. "Fine." Retreating, Malik goes diving in the pantry and returns with the final two rolls of paper towels. He unravels one completely, slowly spilling each connected sheet over the mess on the floor. He does half of the second one the same way, then goes back for a mop and a bucket. 

"If you feel that feeling, you should go to the bathroom and puke in the toilet," says Kadar as he scrubs the alien boy's arms.

Altaïr looks at Kadar owlishly. "Why do you put food from inside of you into that bowl?" he asks.

A giggle erupts in Kadar's throat. "It's a toilet. You, uh--" He peers back at Malik hopefully.

"You shit and piss in it," Malik finishes, glancing up. He knows Altaïr is smart (too smart), and he knows Altaïr is storing these words away and comparing them to other things; he can tell by the way Altaïr's eyes move. "It's easier to clean up when you vomit in it; all you have to do is flush it down. The next time you feel like you're going to throw up, I suggest you try to run as quickly as you can to the toilet, but you better make sure it's not from eating all of our food, or I'm going to be angry."

After a moment, Altaïr murmurs, "I am sorry." 

Kadar gives Malik a disappoint look, but Malik stands his ground. Malik doesn't think Altaïr understands just what those words mean.


	5. Lesson 2: When In Rome

After two weeks, Malik and Kadar decide it will be good to take Altaïr into town with them. The alien who looks surprisingly human has astounded them with a higher intellect, and they are positive nothing could really go awry. They are positive.

So they tuck Altaïr into a baseball cap branded with the L.A. Dodgers emblem and a pair of aviator sunglasses, and this seems fairly effective at hiding the boy's startling eyes. _Don't take this off at all_ , they remind him countless times, hours ahead of their eventual departure.

On their way out the door, their neighbor, an old Italian, is kneeling in the front yard in a pair of gardening gloves. The man looks up when the front door shuts, and he smiles at them pleasantly even when their waving is awkward and shy. Malik and Kadar don't remember seeing the man there when they checked, but they assume he has been there awhile because of the dirt coloring his shirt and face.

"A friend from college?" the man asks, voice heavily accented.

"Something like that," Malik says as he tries to wedge Altaïr into the backseat of the Torino through the passenger side.

Kadar peeps over the hood of the car and asks, "How's the gardening going?"

"Very well," the Italian says, smiling, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Planting some perennials." 

From around the side of the house lumbers another man suddenly, a bear of a thing with a full beard and fuller shoulders, and a bandanna holding his hair away from his face. He's carting two sacks of soil on both shoulders as if he's carrying feathers, and he grins when he spots the boys clambering into the car. "Yo," he calls amiably, and the two brothers wave awkwardly again as the sacks of soil are tossed onto the ground.

"Take him to Ricardo's for dinner," the Italian says. "Tell them I sent you."

Malik and Kadar exchange glances, but Malik has to look away first because of the devious smile on Kadar's lips. "Okay, we will," Malik calls, and then he quickly grabs Kadar by the arm to wrangle the brother into the passenger seat of the Torino before anything can be said. Just as quickly, Malik gets around to the driver's side of the car, get in, starts the car, and takes off.

The two gardening men watch the car get smaller and smaller, but then it makes a left turn at a stop sign and disappears from view. 

There's a long pause. "You'd think they were aliens or something," the bearded man says suddenly, and the Italian chuckles.


End file.
